


Trap for the devil

by SometimesIWriteStories



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:55:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21836356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SometimesIWriteStories/pseuds/SometimesIWriteStories
Summary: Sam and Dean attempt a summoning ritual that goes wrong, causing them to accidentally summon the demon closest to them; Crowley.As one can imagine, this doesn’t go down too well with Crowley, or Aziraphale for that matter.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 48
Kudos: 321





	1. In which a picnic went wrong

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so, here goes. I haven’t written a fic in ages, and I’m not exactly the best of writers, but I decided to try and write the fic that I’d really like to read. I’ve been reading a lot of supernatural crossovers lately, and I’ve enjoyed them a lot, but now I’m running out of things to read. Also I haven’t finished watching supernatural yet, so I don’t know all the lore/characters and find it pretty confusing to keep up in some of the fics. For that reason I’m going to do my best to only include a few supernatural characters.
> 
> For all intents and purposes this is the Good Omens universe, and for some reason Sam and Dean are in England (no, I don’t know why). Anyway, enjoy :)

It was a lovely day. The weather was fine, yet not so hot as to be uncomfortable, simply pleasantly warm with a light breeze.

Aziraphale and Crowley were making the most of the weather. Crowley was sprawled out on the large picnic blanket that quite frankly should not have been large enough to hold both the supernatural entities and the food. Of course, Crowley expected everything to be able to fit on the blanket, and so it did.

Aziraphale was gesticulating wildly as he talked; the two beings were deep in conversation and not even the forces of heaven or hell could interrupt them, or so they thought.

“I regret to inform you that you are quite simply incorrect, my dear boy.”

“Am not. I’m telling you, that’s exactly what happened.”

“Well I never.” Aziraphale made a face similar to that of the shocked pikachu meme. He had never heard anything quite so outrageous in his life.

“I was as surprised as you are. Funny how these things get lost in translation, don’t you think?”

“There’s nothing funny about it,” Aziraphale tried to argue, but couldn’t stop himself from smiling. The whole thing was just too ridiculous for words. 

The two had arranged the outing beforehand, with Aziraphale finally making good on his word that someday they could go for a picnic. What with the not-pocalypse and trying to evade the forces of heaven and hell, their lives had been a bit hectic as of late, and they both felt as though they deserved a rest. They had (almost) single handedly botched an apocalypse, after all.

So far they had made their way through the variety of sandwiches and fruit. Or rather, Aziraphale made his way through them. At some point or other, Crowley miracled them some expensive wine, and they had been passing the bottle between them for the better part of the afternoon. They had not had enough to be drunk, simply enough to be pleasantly tipsy. All in all it was rather lovely. 

Or at least that was until Crowley began to feel a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach. Suddenly alert, he sat up, causing Aziraphale to look over at him quizzically. 

“Is something the matter dear boy?” He asked, a concerned expression on his face.

“I’m not sure,” Crowley replied, equally concerned. Was it some kind of divine intervention? Or a hellish one? He had hoped that the forces of heaven and hell would have given it at least a few years before cropping up into their lives again. Surely Aziraphale’s and his performance had been enough to make them keep their distance? 

The feeling was growing, morphing into a tearing, burning sensation that he fought hard to suppress. He got to his feet, his hand clutched to his chest, attempting to stop the pain. By now that was what it was; pain. Angry red waves of pain that rushed over him and seemed to emanate from his very core. He didn’t know what to do. Six millennia and he had never felt anything quite like it before. 

“Something’s wrong.” He fought to get the words out, looking over at Aziraphale desperately. 

Aziraphale was beginning to become rather worried indeed. Something was definitely not right. 

Crowley felt his chest constrict further, his lungs squeezing tighter and tighter as he fought to get air into them. 

Inexplicably he began to rise in the air, his limbs thrown back from the force. His chest felt as though it had been doused in holy water, as though his flesh was sizzling and eating into his bones. Aziraphale’s face was contorted in terror and Crowley was sure the sentiment was mirrored on his own face.

Aziraphale continued to stare on in abject horror. Crowley was in pain, and he didn’t know how to stop it. He was frozen, unable to move, unable to help, unable to do anything but watch.

Suddenly Crowley disappeared.


	2. In which two hunters get more than they bargained for

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seems like people kind of liked this so I thought I would get another chapter up! Thank you so much for the kudos ❤️ It really made my day!
> 
> Hope you enjoy

Crowley blearily forced his eyes open and let them adjust to the light. He was in a small, dimly lit room. Overheard a light buzzed on and off, only serving to perpetuate his inability to get a feel for his surroundings. He tried to get up off the floor but his limbs creaked in protest. He felt as though he had been hit by a ten tonne truck. His glasses were lying on the ground next to him, the glass cracked beyond repair. 

Finally he managed to get to his feet and stretched out his muscles. Now, as Crowley used to be a snake, his muscles are rather more versatile than that of a regular human, or even more than that of a regular divine being. Therefore Crowley stretching out his muscles is something that is quite hilarious to observe.

Sam and Dean, however, did not find it particularly funny. 

Dean tried to take in what had just happened, but found himself rather at a loss for words. The whole day had been a complete farce if he was honest. 

———————————————————————

One day earlier —

They had gotten a call from Bobby talking in vague terms about some demonic activity in the UK that was linked to the case they were working on. Bobby told them to come as soon as possible, so they boarded the plane (much to Dean’s dismay and downright refusal on no uncertain terms) and endured the flight. Every time the captain announced upcoming turbulence over the speaker system Dean made a face similar to that of someone with bad constipation. It was safe to say he was not enjoying the experience. 

Finally they landed in the UK, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief as his feet touched solid ground once more. They went to the address that Bobby had given them, unsure what to expect. Neither of them had any idea how this could possibly relate to the case they were on, especially as it was so far from home. Still, they trusted Bobby, and they knew that he would not have brought them here if it were not important. 

The address they had been given was in a fairly rural location. It took several hours just to reach it, and it was so far off the beaten track that Dean began to wonder if it was even the right place after all. The only building for miles was a large shack which looked as though it had been abandoned decades prior. 

“Is this the place?” Sam asked, looking doubtfully at Dean.

“Must be,” Dean replied gruffly. In all honesty he was beginning to wonder if he had been sent on a wild goose chase after all.

They walked towards the shack, their footfalls interrupting the otherwise dead silence surrounding the place. The entire area was enveloped in a feeling of foreboding. Dean and Sam both got out their guns and held them tightly in front of them. The weapons helped to calm Dean’s nerves, but he was still apprehensive about what they were about to go up against.

Dean steeled himself and prepared to break open the door. 

One.

He took a deep breath.

Two.

He prepared to swing.

Three.

He flung himself at the door and it came open with a loud crash. With a nod to Sam, he stepped inside the shack and came face to face with....

Absolutely nothing at all.


	3. In which an ancient book is discovered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean make their way to the location Bobby has sent them to, unsure of what it is they are supposed to be doing there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo an update! Sorry it’s been so long, Christmas happened, then new year happened, then January magically happened and I realised that I still hadn’t updated this story.
> 
> Also, side note, almost 2000 hits and over 100 kudos?? That is waaay more than I ever thought I would get for some silly little story I decided to write on a whim. Thank you to everyone for reading, and if you’re still here even after like a month and a bit, thanks for sticking around. Hope you like the chapter :)
> 
> Second side note: I did try with the dialogue, okay 😂  
I’m not a supernatural expert, and I’ve only watched the first five seasons. Therefore dialogue might not be the most accurate, but I did try to make them say things in the way they normally speak. Sorry if it’s a bit inaccurate. 
> 
> Final side note:  
No idea when I’m gonna post another chapter, ya boi got mocks coming up, but I promise I will finish this story eventually. I still like the idea, and I don’t want to give up on it, but right now I can’t devote as much time to it as I’d like to. Right, enough rambling, go enjoy the story.

“Is this it?” Dean asked, disappointment clear in his voice.

“Maybe we’re at the wrong place?” Sam asked doubtfully. 

This was the only building for miles and miles, and Bobby had been very specific on the location. What he hadn’t been specific on was what exactly they were looking for. Dean knew that Bobby must have his reasons, but still, did he really have to leave them completely in the dark? In Dean’s opinion, Bobby definitely owed them an explanation, and he’d be damned if Bobby didn’t make it a good one.

“Screw this, I’m calling Bobby,” Dean said, his mind made up. 

The brothers waited as the phone rang, once, twice, the silence stretching out uncomfortably between them. Finally Bobby answered the phone. 

“So did you boys find it?” Bobby said expectantly, just as Dean drew in breath to go on a tirade. 

“Find what?” Sam cut in. “Bobby, you haven’t even told us what we’re looking for, you just sent us to an abandoned shack in the middle of nowhere.”

“Look, I don’t exactly know what it is, else I would’ve told ya. All I know is that it is ancient and powerful, whatever it is.”

“You don’t even know what we’re-“ Sam sighed heavily.

“Well can you at least tell us who told you about this “ancient and powerful” schmuck?” Dean interjected. 

“A very old Hunter friend of mine got in touch, said that he knew your father. Short of it is, they had been looking for something together, and this guy has finally hunted it down. Said that handing it over to you guys would be the best thing to do, it being your father who first caught wind of it.”

“Well why didn’t you just say that in the first place?” Dean said, exasperated.

“I didn’t want you boys to get your hopes up thinking you’d be going on in your dad’s tracks and then finding nothing there.”

“But there isn’t anything here at all.” Sam said, looking around at the barren walls of the shack. The light flickered overheard. He looked at Dean, who shrugged his shoulders.

“Well did you ever consider that it would be hidden?”

“Hidden where?”

“Use your heads, you idjits. Surely you got something knocking around in those skulls of yours.”

“Where are we supposed to-“ Sam started, but Bobby had already hung up the call. 

The two brothers stood for a moment in silence, both unsure what to do. Dean was the first to break the silence, turning to leave the shack. 

“If we’ve got to hunt for this stuff then we better get some supplies,” he called back to Sam. 

Sam moved to follow Dean out to the Impala. The whole situation was less than ideal, and Sam felt a twinge of anger at Bobby. Why he couldn’t have been open and honest in the first place was a mystery to him. 

They grabbed equipment from the boot of the Impala, Dean loading the guns with the practiced ease of a hunter. As an after-thought, Sam grabbed a crowbar from where it lay nestled underneath the other tools.

Armed and ready, they headed back to the shack. 

“Dean, how exactly are we going to find this thing, we looked all round the shack and there was nothing in there. It was empty.”

“Damned if I know,” was the response, gruff and resigned. 

They began to search every inch of the small, ramshackle building, making sure no metaphorical stone was left unturned. 

Sam stepped forward heavily to examine the far wall, and the floorboards creaked in protest. If it were a cartoon, a lightbulb would have lit up above Sam’s head.

“The floorboards!” He exclaimed, dropping to a crouch. 

“You reckon there’s some kind of storage space under one of em?” Dean asked, moving away from the wall he had been painstakingly checking for hidden buttons or levers. 

“Maybe. I’m not sure, but it’s just about the only place someone could hide something.”

Dean began to grope around on the ground. He swore loudly when his fingers hit a sharp snag. Looking down, he saw the nail sticking almost all the way up out of the floorboard. 

“Hey, would ya look at that,” he said. “You got that crowbar?”

Sam came over with the crowbar and handed it to Dean. Dean carefully slid the crowbar into the small gap between the floorboards. The floorboard in question had definitely been moved. It creaked and groaned in protest as Dean shifted his weight onto the crowbar, then finally gave way. 

The brothers looked down at the small space underneath the floorboard. In it sat an ancient looking leather-bound book. Dean reached his hand down to pick up the book, and bring it out into the less than bright light, so he could get a better look at it. 

It was old and faded, but the care that had gone into making the cover was evident. It was a deep red, and had gold embellishments on the corners. The pages themselves had a coat of gold leaf on the sides, lending itself to an impression of grandeur. Dean hesitantly wiped his hand across the cover of the book, revealing the title that had been obscured by years of dust: 

‘How to trap the Devil’


	4. In which Crowley comes to a horrifying realization about his situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley comes to a realisation which completely changes anything. Oh and Sam and Dean, they're there too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, yes hello, it is I.
> 
> So uhhhhh..... it's been a while huh  
*stares at the angry mob of 253 people who left kudos on this story that are stood outside with pitchforks*
> 
> Okay first off, I am at least vaguely sorry for not updating this sooner. In my defence, I did not expect 4383 people to read this. I mean hell, reading it back the writing isn't even good, but for some reason, people did enjoy it. So for all the poor people that have stuck around, this one goes out to you.
> 
> The publishing of this chapter was in no way catalyzed by my burning guilt due to the fact that somebody very kind commented on this and reminded me that this exists. Every time I get an email about kudos I die slightly more inside.
> 
> No but actually, thank you all so much for reading, and here's a chapter; enjoy.
> 
> :DD

“How to trap the Devil?” Dean read from the cover of the book, shooting a dubious look over at Sam, who looked equally dubious.

“Is this really what Bobby sent us here to get?” Sam asked, staring at the book. It was definitely an extraordinary looking book, but the cover boasted of something impossible; a long sought after solution.

As long as humanity has been believing in a Hell, there have been those who sought to contain its denizens and bind them to an individual’s own will. For centuries desperate individuals have thrown themselves into rituals more dangerous than they could ever know, summoning demons and bringing their burdens down upon them; threatening at first, then finally begging and pleading, bartering with their own souls without truly knowing their worth. For some it was the death of a loved one, a child, a brother, perhaps a lover desperate to be reunited. For others it was revenge, perhaps not best served cold, but heated with the fires of brimstone and unleashed with vengeful fury. For many, greed was a much fickler master. They wanted money, or land, or power; the kind of raw visceral power that could topple a nation with a single utterance.

And in the end, they always did get what they wanted, for a handsome price, of course.

This was accepted, these were the lengths that some would go to. They had made their own choice and got what they came for. But to try and trap the _**Devil**__? _What could possibly drive someone to try and bring the ultimate purveyor of entropy and destruction to Earth? Surely they did not think he would grant them clemency, or leniency? Surely they did not believe it would aid them in whatever quest they had set out to achieve?

Yet there it was, in bold letters on the cover, staring brazenly at the two brothers who stood together, peering down at it with growing curiosity.

Dean could already tell that this was going to be interesting.

  
  


Crowley looked at the two men standing in front of him and immediately decided that this was not somewhere he wanted to be.

One of the men looked to be built like a bear, towering threateningly as he stood. The other, while shorter, did not appear any less threatening due to the large amount of equipment that they had in their possession. They both were botharmed with a veritable arsenal and had the demeanour of two fellows who had missed the memo that the apocalypse was already over and done with.

  
  


Crowley gulped. It was not looking particularly good for him to say the least.

  
  


As a snake, Crowley had a long and colourful history of slithering his way out of difficult situations. It had started all the way back in Eden, convincing his superiors that he was doing his job and narrowly escaping the wrath of hell each time he encountered them. He had always fancied himself to be someone with somewhat of a silver tongue, able to “uhm” and “errr” and “ngk” his way out of every situation without any permanent damage being done to his corporation. True to form, Crowley attempted his signature tactic of brazenly tripping headfirst into danger without a second thought with the grace of a gazelle that has just tripped and fallen off a cliff.

  
  


“Urrhh… hi guys”

  
  


The two men stared at him as though he had grown another head.

  
  


Crowley began to shift nervously from foot to foot. After a second within which it seemed as though they used to muster courage, one of the men spoke.

  
  


“Are you…. The Devil?” the taller man whispered.

  
  


Well, that had certainly come out of left field. Crowley was confused to say the least. From the pentagram and demonic looking ritual symbols Crowley could ascertain that he had been summoned, but he could not for the life of him understand how. I mean _Satan_ _Below, _how did these two humans even come across a legitimate summoning ritual beyond your run of the mill soul deal? Of course, there were plenty of humans who liked to claim that they dabbled in the occult, finding themselves pretty trinkets and waving them around whilst chanting meaningless incantations, but those were completely harmless. If they ever came face to face with a _real _demon Crowley was certain that they would turn tail and run faster than they could say “Crikey”. The other kind of humans who searched for the darkness beyond the mortal realm were a little more tricky. As opposed to their counterparts, these individuals were actually able to make contact with demons, attempting to bargain their souls away. Often they were full of disbelief, having never truly thought that what they were attempting would actually work, but still desperate and depraved enough to go through with what they had set out to do nonetheless. With both cases they shared one similarity; that they were fearful of the thing that stood in front of them.

  
  


These men were not. They were armed and _dangerous. _It seemed as though they actually had weapons that could harm demons and by the looks of things they also very much knew how to use them.

  
  


As the man spoke Crowley let out a gasp, the most terrifying realisation yet hitting him straight in the face.

  
  


They were _American_.


	5. In which Crowley decides that Sam reminds him of a moose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It is I! 
> 
> Seeing all the kudos and comments I got from the last chapter made me want to actually get back into writing this again, so here we are, another chapter! I am glad that so many people enjoyed my "they were american" joke. I really feel as though it's a defining feature of Sam and Dean, ya know
> 
> Also, not sure if anybody has noticed but I've been trying to write in two different styles whenever the pov changes happen. So for the Sam and Dean segments it's a bit more of a serious tone, and for the Good Omens Crowley pov perspectives I'm trying to make the style of writing closer to the writing in the Good Omens book. I have to say, the Good Omens segments are incredibly fun to write. My personal favourite from this chapter was the metaphor about a drowning toddler (once you get there you'll know) :))
> 
> Enjoy! And thank you once again for all the Kudos and comments, they make my day :D

As the brothers peered at the tome Dean began to get a bad feeling in the pit of the stomach. This did not feel like the kind of jobs they usually did. His job was hunting monsters, and he was damn good at his job, but anything to do with demons always put him on edge. Something about the way their black, soulless eyes bored menacingly into his really got to him. Or maybe it was the way that they donned the disguise of an unsuspecting human victim, forcing their way in and then discarding the bodies afterwards as if they were toys. It made his skin crawl.

“Is this really what Bobby sent us here to get?” Sam’s words pulled Dean out of his train of thought.

“I guess it must be. Do you think this thing is legit?” Dean asked, although he already knew that both he and Sam likely shared the same trepidation regarding the book.

“I don’t know, Dean,” Sam replied doubtfully, clearly unsure what to think.

“Well I guess there’s only one way to find out Sammy. Let’s study this thing in the daylight, I’ll be damned if I can see anything in this dingy lighting.”

Sam nodded in agreement and the two made their way back out of the small shack and into the daylight. As they emerged, Dean squinted, his eyes already having adjusted to the dim lighting inside the shack.

They unceremoniously plonked themselves down onto the ground and Dean gingerly placed his hand on the ornate cover before slowly opening it.

The paper was a thick, coarse material, and the writing inside appeared to have been inscribed by an expert hand. Delicately, Dean traced his hand over the ancient lettering. It was excellent calligraphy, a skill Dean had once tried to pick up as a child but had never quite gotten the knack for, giving up after a few measly attempts to go and help his father and never revisiting the skill. He had always found himself impressed by the form of penmanship, even if he did not voice it for fear of not appearing masculine enough. The writing inside the book before him was truly impeccable.

As they pored over the ancient pages the sun slowly sank, giving way to the first tendrils of darkness that began to creep into the sky. As the night approached Dean closed the book reverently and the two brothers sat in contemplative silence, trying to wrap their heads around what they had just read.

—————————————————————-

A few things clicked into place in Crowley’s mind. The guns, for one thing. However, he was still left with a large number of questions and very little answers.

I mean, come on, how could anyone mistake _him_ for the devil? Yes Crowley was incredibly suave and devilishly stylish (at the very least in his own head), but he was nothing like Satan. Satan was a great big bugger for a start. Red too. And absolutely no sense of style. Frankly Crowley was a little offended that anyone had gotten the two mixed up.

“Sorry, _what?"_ He voiced, realising that he had not actually answered their question yet.

“Are you the..... devil?” The tall one repeated, trailing off at the last word, as though he had realised the absurdity of his own statement.

After further inspection Crowley decided that something about the man reminded him of a Moose. He wasn’t quite sure what it was though. Maybe the shoulders? No. The face? Not really. He was at a bit of a loss on the specifics, but one thing was for certain; that man was mooselike. He was sure that if he asked Aziraphale _he_ would know immediately what Crowley meant.

Oh Satan, Aziraphale. The picnic. Suddenly he found everything flooding back to him and he reassessed just how inconvenient this entire situation was. They couldn’tve picked any other day to essentially kidnap him on, oh no, it just _had_ to be the day he was planning something special for Aziraphale.

Crowley, as a general rule of thumb, was all about grand gestures. He would be the first to admit that words weren’t always his forte. Okay, maybe that was a teensy weensy complete and utter understatement. Crowley may be able to worm his way out of uncomfortable situations and convince his bosses that he was in fact actually doing work, but when it came to talking about feelings Crowley was completely out of his depth.

An apt analogy would be something akin to throwing a toddler who can barely walk into the deep end of the pool with uninflated armbands. As one can imagine, the result is not pleasant.

Therefore, sometime around the rise of the knights of the round table and the birth of the concept of chivalry, Crowley discovered that he was in fact a big fan of grand heroic gestures. And he was fairly certain that Aziraphale was a big fan of being on the receiving end of said grand heroic gestures. It worked out rather well really.

So today Crowley had planned a grand gesture for Aziraphale. They would have the picnic and wine, and then as the sun was setting Crowley would do something **bold**.

Or at least that was what was meant to happen. Until these two idiots went and kidnapped him for Satan’s sake.

Crowley huffed loudly.

“Do I look like the devil to you? It’s Crowley.”

“Cr-ow-lee?” The shorter one asked. “What kind of a name is that?”

“Crow-lee.” Crowley repeated with a scowl.

So not only had they pseudo kidnapped him, trapped him in a summoning circle _and_ mistaken him for the devil they also couldn’t get his name right.

The situation was beginning to decline at a rapid velocity and Crowley was decidedly not here for it.


End file.
